The Light in Their Eyes
by EstelRaca
Summary: When one of Apollo's fellow orphans is arrested for a crime Apollo is certain she didn't commit, he and Clay go looking for a defense attorney that will listen to them. Raymond Shields isn't quite what they were hoping to find, but he'll have to do.


_The Light in Their Eyes_

Ray tries to take care of Miles.

He tells himself that over and over again as the months go by and no reply comes from the boy.

He _tried_ , he really tried, because Miles was the most important thing in the world to Gregory Edgeworth, but first Ray had needed to secure the office. No one would give him custody of a child if he'd just lost his job, right? (And the office is precious to Ray, holds memories in every inch that Ray wishes he could preserve for eternity, but even just six months after Gregory's death they are fading. The exact timbre of Gregory's voice is gone, though the words that Gregory spoke are printed indelibly on Ray's heart; the exact tilt of Gregory's hat, the sweep of his jacket, have been replaced by broad-stroke outlines, though the _places_ where he stood most often are still marked, the carpet in front of the window, next to the chair, behind his desk— _Ray's_ desk now—worn down by still and steady feet.)

There should have been more time. Manfred von Karma shouldn't have been able to take Miles away to Germany like he did, sweeping in and stealing the boy. Von Karma doesn't even _want_ to adopt the child, though Ray can think of no sound reason to deny him fostering and custody of the boy. (One can't simply put _because he's evil_ in an official court document, he hears Gregory sighing, and for the six hundredth time Ray wishes that Gregory were here to help him through this.)

Perhaps it was for the best, Ray thinks, standing in front of Gregory's grave a year later. Ray has barely been able to take care of himself and the office. What would he have done with a child? And even if he is evil, even if there's something terrible and dark lurking inside Manfred von Karma, surely it won't be brought to bear on an innocent boy.

(Surely Ray hasn't failed his mentor so utterly.)

He finally sees Miles again six months later. Ray is facing off against Von Karma, and Miles sits behind the prosecutor's bench, still and attentive.

He looks nothing like the child that Gregory doted on. His silver eyes are hard and cold, matching the eyes of the man at the prosecutor's bench. The plain suit that he wore while following Gregory about has been replaced by debonair lace and tailoring that went out of style over a century ago.

Ray still could have forgiven him. He still could have believed that Gregory's spirit lived on in his son. If Ray hadn't lost the trial, sending an innocent man to death row; if he hadn't abandoned his client once the verdict was given, crossing the near-sacrosanct ground between the benches for the defense and prosecution in his need to talk to Miles; if the boy hadn't _sneered_ at him, an expression of contempt utterly like his master's...

"Miles." Ray's voice falters on the name as his eyes search for any hint of his mentor in the almost-teenager before him.

"You really are a sorry excuse for a defense attorney, Mr. Shields." Miles' sneer increases in intensity as he turns away from Ray, to follow Von Karma into the prosecutor's lounge. "I'm lucky I ended up where I am."

"Well said, boy." Von Karma gives a curt gesture. "Now come along. No dawdling with the riff-raff."

Miles' unexpected words were like a flail across Ray's thoughts, freezing him in place, and before he can think to do or say anything else Miles is gone.

Ray retreats back to his client then, trying to reassure the terrified young man that there are still appeals that can be made, paths they can pursue, chances they can take.

He buries himself in his work, in the office, keeping the name of Gregory Edgeworth alive and remembered, and tells himself that it is enough, that he has done all he could.

(He never believes it, but since he can do nothing to change what has happened, he does what he needs to in order to move on, letting helplessness and grief simmer down into bitter resentment in his chest.)

XXX

 _ **Ten years later**_

Apollo and Clay are just returning to the orphanage from school when the detectives come to arrest Inocente.

The girl fights them, kicking and screaming against the men who have grabbed her arms. The uniforms don't register for Apollo, not at first. He just sees one of his fellow orphans being manhandled, hears her screaming to be let go, and acts on instinct.

Clay doesn't stop him, just picking up Apollo's backpack from where he dumps it on the floor and moving it out of the way. Clay's always good about thinking of things like that, and Apollo is grateful even as he strives to pull vice-like fingers away from Inocente's skin. If he can manage to get a hold on at least one of the man's fingers, bend it backward—

The first man's face is turning red with fury, and the second has lifted Apollo up off the ground. "You little _brat_ , you better—"

"Mr. Humi!" A voice bellows across the front hallway, freezing everyone in place. It belongs to a tall, broad mountain of a man, easily three times Apollo's size, and he doesn't look happy as he stalks toward them. A long coat billows dramatically behind him, and a pencil has been shoved behind one ear. "Mr. Lation. What seems to be the problem, gentlemen?"

"Sorry, detective." The man holding Inocente straightens, and the one who had hefted Apollo sets him back on the ground. "The girl's just bein' difficult, and then this little brat tried to get involved, too."

Apollo considers kicking one of the men in the knee, but with the mountain staring down at him he decides against it. Lifting his chin, he scowls up at the detective. "What are you trying to do to Inocente?"

The man squats down in front of Apollo, rubbing one finger idly over a bandage on his cheek. "Inocente is your friend, huh?"

Apollo hesitates. She's not really his _friend_ , per se—Clay is really the only _friend_ he has, the only person he _trusts—_ but she's been at the orphanage for almost as many years as he has. She came later, when she was _older_ , but for both of them the orphanage has been their home for longer than any other place. "We watch each other's backs."

The detective nods. "That's a good thing, too. But Inocente did somethin' she shouldn't have. She stole money from some people and hurt one of them real bad in the process. So she's goin' to have to come down to the precinct with us, and she's goin' to have to pay for what she did."

Apollo's scowl deepens. If someone in the orphanage had stolen anything worthwhile, the rest of them would know about it— _Apollo_ would know about, his seniority over everyone else giving him a strange kind of power and authority. And though Inocente is full of bluster and bile, and has been suspended from school more than once, she's not the type to hurt someone for money or jewels or anything like that. Apollo would stake his life on it. "She didn't."

"Detective Gumshoe..." The man holding Inocente is older than the detective, Apollo thinks, and he sounds exasperated. "Can we get on with this?"

"Apollo." Ms. Simplice, the woman in charge of watching them in the evening, puts a hand on each of Apollo's shoulders, pulling him back. "Stop making trouble for the nice men, all right? Inocente did something very bad, and now she has to go make it better."

Everyone but Clay has faded away from them, though Apollo can see wary, nervous eyes watching from the shadows, waiting to see how this will turn out.

Marching up to stand at Apollo's side, Clay offers Apollo his backpack before turning to the detective. "If Apollo says she didn't do it, she didn't do it."

Gumshoe straightens. "If she didn't, then there won't be a problem. She'll be found innocent. But there's a lot o' evidence against her."

"Ms. Simplice." Apollo looks up at the woman holding him. He tries not to rely on her or the other staff members too much, knowing that the protection they can offer is patchy at best, but some things he just can't do alone. Not at ten years old, anyway. Maybe when he's older he'll be able to do everything he needs to do. "Can't you tell them that Inocente didn't do it?"

The woman sighs. "They present a good case, young man, which you would know if you had asked what was happening before acting. That's why I'm letting them take her."

"Please." There are tears in Inocente's eyes as she looks at him, and even though Apollo thinks they're as much tears of fury as tears of fear, it's the first time he's ever seen her cry. "Please—"

"Look." Gumshoe rubs at the back of his neck. "If you want t' help your friend, and you really think she's innocent, find her a good defense attorney."

Since fighting off all four adults and running away is right out of the question, Apollo mulls the suggestion over. "What's a defense attorney?"

Gumshoe shrugs. "Someone who tries to get people off the hook for crimes. Good luck findin' an honest one, but it'll do you more good than gettin' int' a scrap with us, I promise you that."

"Right. All right." Apollo takes a step back, his hand sneaking out to grab Clay's, holding tight to it as a lifeline. "You hang on then, Inocente. I'm going to find you an awesome defense attorney, and you're going to be just fine."

Inocente smiles at him, giving her eyes a little roll—everyone but Clay seems to find his habit of saying things will be fine funny. "Sure, Justice. And I'm goin' to grow wings and fly away."

The cops lead her away then, saying formal goodbyes to Ms. Simplice as they do.

Skittering up to his room while the adults are distracted, Apollo quickly finds the small stashes of money that he has and pours them all into the main pocket of his backpack. It isn't much, but it's all he has, and he'll have to make it be enough.

Clay is waiting for him at the front door, and Apollo doesn't even have to say anything. They just head out, together, to make sure things turn out all right.

XXX

The last thing Ray Shields expects to find when he gets back to the office after lunch is a six-year-old.

The boy jumps to his feet, slinging the backpack on his shoulder down in front of him and shoving his right hand down into it. A too-large gold bracelet hangs around his left wrist, peeking out from beneath the school uniform that he's wearing. Another boy, looking slightly older but dressed in the same uniform, stands at the first one's side.

Ray's right eyebrow arches up. "Well now, kiddies. Aren't you supposed to be somewhere, not sittin' on Uncle Ray's doorstep?"

"We're supposed to be right here!" The boy with the backpack pulls an envelope out of it. His voice is incredibly loud, filling the whole corridor, and Ray wonders how so much noise comes from such a small source.

The larger boy flips open a notebook. "You're Raymond Shields, right? The defense attorney?"

"I am." Ray drawls out his response, reaching up to toy with the edge of his hat brim as he studies the boys. "Who's asking?"

"Someone who needs a defense attorney, obviously!" The first boy frowns at Ray, as though that should be obvious. "One of our friends has been falsely accused of theft and assault, and we need someone to defend her."

"Ahhhh..." Ray sighs, shoving both his hands in his pockets. "So you guys're trying to get your friend out of trouble by playin' hookie, huh? Two wrongs making a right?"

"That's not what we're doing!" The boy's cheeks flush, and his eyes glare up at Ray, sharper and more determined than those of a child his age should be. "It's not our fault all you lawyer people keep silly hours."

"Silly hours being reasonable hours." Ray hooks a thumb over his shoulder. "Go on, kids. Back to school with you. If you really have a friend in trouble, their parents will take care of getting them a defense attorney if they need one."

The small boy's hands clench, wrinkling the envelope. "They won't because she doesn't _have_ parents! We're the only chance she has of someone taking her seriously!"

Ray is beginning to think that the boy just naturally yells everything. He's never had someone yell-growl at him before, but apparently tiny furious children can manage it. "If she's an orphan, her guardian will ensure she has a defense, or the courts will appoint someone for her. Now, you two need to—"

"Where's the _other_ attorney?" The boy gestures to the nameplate on the door. "The one in charge of the office? Gregory Edgeworth? Will _he_ take us seriously?"

It shouldn't hurt. It shouldn't _matter_. Ray has heard that question too many times to count over the years—or at least variations on it. Why doesn't he change the name of the office, everyone wants to know. Why does he hold on to ghosts. Why can't he just move on.

Or maybe they _aren't_ variations on the same theme, because _this_ child is telling him he's moved too far away. What would Gregory have done, looking down into shining eyes that demanded justice of a world ill-equipped to deliver it?

(Miles' eyes. They look like Miles' eyes did, once upon a time, fierce even beneath the fury, but Ray never wants to think of Miles Edgeworth again.)

"Gregory Edgeworth's dead. He's been dead for over a decade now." Moving forward, pushing the boys aside by dint of outweighing them—the unstoppable force that overwhelms their immovable objects—Ray uses his key to open the door and saunters into his office.

He doesn't expect the boys to follow him—surely they've given up on him by now—but they do. It's the less-loud one who asks the next question, his head tilted as he studies the interior of the office. "Makes sense that he's been dead. That's why his name wasn't on the list."

"That's why his name wasn't on the list. But he started this office, made a name for it. Did a lot of good work." Removing his hat, Ray sets it gently on the desk before turning. Lounging back against the desk, he studies the two children. "Come on, now. Off to school with you."

The angry boy's lips pull back from his teeth, and he deliberately turns away from Ray. "Clay, let's just go to the next name."

"If you want to, Apollo." Clay's tone is carefully neutral, and he turns the notebook in his hand so that Apollo can see it. "If you're sure..."

Apollo's expression closes down as he looks at the notebook, his lips pressing into a thin line.

"Go on, boys." Ray dons an easy smile. "Get out of here before Uncle Ray decides to give you a hug and call the cops about your truancy."

Apollo still has the backpack and the envelope clutched in his hands, and he turns a glare on Ray that seems like it holds the force that could destroy worlds. "Why aren't you taking us seriously? We're trying to _hire_ you. We've got money."

The boy's cheeks flush red as he makes the proclamation, shame touching the set of his shoulders. It makes him look smaller, more vulnerable, and Ray regrets teasing the child.

(Gregory wouldn't have teased them. Gregory always treated Miles as an equal. Not as an _adult_ , because children don't have the experience and processing abilities to think as an adult, but as an _equal_ , as a fellow human being, and the boy had thrived under the care. Now...)

"Your friend's innocent?" Ray looks down at the boys, frowning fiercely, hoping that the change in his tone and expression will goad them into telling the truth.

"She's innocent." Apollo straightens, and his eyes don't match his face, far too old for the body they inhabit. "Will you defend her?"

Ray scratches at his chin. He should turn these kids over to their school or their parents or the cops, before he gets in trouble for aiding and abetting truancy. At the same time... sighing, he moves around to take his proper chair. "Let me see what you've got."

Apollo jumps forward as though someone has electrocuted him, slamming the envelope down on the desk before reaching into his backpack and pulling out a slim file filled with newspaper clippings and scrawls in two children's hands. His eyes just barely peer over the edge of the old, well-worn wood of Ray's desk. "They're saying that Inocente broke into this house and robbed these people, and that she stabbed the lady when she did it."

"The lady's in a coma now; the man says he didn't see anyone. The police arrested Inocente because they've got her fingerprints on the door and inside the house." Clay is watching Ray with eyes that are no less fierce but somehow more _wary_ than Apollo's. "But we're sure she didn't do it."

"Hm." Ray flips through the newspaper clippings. The apartment is high-end, not the kind of place that he would expect an orphaned girl with a troubled history to be. According to the newspapers, at least, she's given no good explanation for why her prints were found there. A crime of jealousy, of greed, and the papers quote Winston Payne as saying that any sixteen-year-old ought to know better, so of course they're going to seek the maximum punishment. "This isn't going to be an easy case, boys. Are you sure she didn't—"

"She didn't." Apollo's voice seems disembodied, echoing in the room as his eyes continue to stare up at Ray. "Can you help her?"

Sighing, Ray turns to the envelope that clearly contains the boys' attempt at payment. "Even if she's innocent, she might be better served by taking a plea bargain. Say she did it, get a light sentence, have it scrubbed off her record when she turns eighteen."

The sound that Apollo makes would be more suited to a volcano. Or a furious cat.

"I'm not sayin' that's what I'd do. If I take a case, I do it right. You just..." Ray's voice grinds to a halt as he opens the envelope. Small bills and coins spill out—perhaps thirty, forty dollars, the careful hoardings of a child's allowance. "Hell, kid, this wouldn't even cover sitting and talking to Uncle Ray like you've done. Where are your parents? Can I call them and see if they'll—"

Apollo's face goes very pale, and he takes a few steps back from the desk. Rolling up his left sleeve, he slips the too-big gold bracelet that Ray had seen earlier off and flings it up onto the desk, next to the envelope. "Here. Will that cover the rest of the fee?"

Picking up the bracelet delicately, Ray turns it over in his hands. It's gold plated or something like it, intricately carved with symbols that look somewhat like eyes. "I don't really trade in jewelry. Is there a reason that you're more willing to part with this than tell me who your parents are?"

It's Clay who answers, his voice flat, his eyes hard and cold. "Apollo's an orphan, too. That's how we know Inocente, and why we're certain she didn't do it. She lives at the same orphanage."

"Aw, hell." Scrubbing a hand across his face, Ray twirls the bracelet around on his desk.

"You wanted my parents." Apollo shrugs. "That bracelet's all they gave to me. And if that's what it's going to take to save Inocente—"

Standing abruptly, Ray moves around the desk. He puts a hand on Clay's shoulder first, looking into the boy's eyes before patting him once.

Then he kneels down in front of Apollo, reaching out to grab the boy's left arm. Apollo stiffens, his whole body trying to bow away from Ray, but he doesn't cry out or lash at him.

Shoving the boy's sleeve up, he slips the bracelet back onto his wrist, pulling the fabric of his school uniform down so that it covers it. "If your family gave you that, you keep it. Anyone who wants to take something precious from you in order to give you justice doesn't know the meaning of the word."

Apollo swallows, his mouth opening and closing without sound coming out for a moment before he speaks. "Does that mean... are you going to help us?"

"I'll take the case." Standing again, Ray takes his hat and shoves it down firmly on his head. "I can't guarantee I'll actually be able to help her—the cards are stacked against us—but hey, I was due for a _pro bono_ case or two."

Clay has teleported to Apollo's side, and Ray can hear _pro bono_ in the whispering that passes between them.

This is silly. This is absolutely _foolish_ , putting time and resources toward an orphaned girl on a difficult case that won't get him anywhere. This is tilting at dragons in the hopes they'll turn out to be windmills.

(This is the type of thing Gregory did, and possibly the type of thing that got him killed, but Ray can't be the one to put out that light in Apollo's eyes.)

Tossing the envelope with their money in it—money that likely means the world to them, but that won't do much more than keep the lights on for a week for Ray—to Clay, Ray gestures expansively toward the door. "Come on. I've got to drop you boys off at school so we don't get arrested for truancy while we're trying to investigate this case."

"We're coming with you!" Apollo's proclamation echoes throughout the room. "We can help. I know Inocente—how she thinks, where she'd go, where she'd hide things."

"And I stick with him." Clay grins, taking the backpack from Apollo and slinging it onto his shoulder. "Besides, we don't have anything important happening at school today. No tests, just some lectures. I already know everything for the astronomy unit and for the math—you can't get rockets into space without math—and Apollo knows everything for the reading unit—he's good with words and stories."

Apollo beams at the simple praise, smiling shyly at his friend.

How infrequently do people tell Apollo he's doing well, that he's good at something, for such a simple thing to light his whole being?

"I'll still have to call the school and your guardians, explain what's going on." Ushering the boys out of the office, Ray affixes the notice saying he's out investigating a case in the window, so that any potential paying clients will be able to give him a call rather than simply leaving. Then he follows the boys out, locking the door behind him. "Uncle Ray likes keeping troubles to a minimum."

"Okay." Apollo doesn't argue with him, the fierce anger transmuted into eager energy as he follows Ray. "Whatever's going to help, we'll do it."

"Anything?" Ray holds his arms open. "How about giving Uncle Ray a hug, then?"

Apollo freezes, his smile disappearing.

It's Clay who walks into the hug, giving Ray a brief, friendly squeeze. Clay's voice is barely audible as he whispers in Ray's ear. "Betray us or hurt him, and you'll regret it. Forever."

Ray is still trying to process what the boy said when Clay retreats back to Apollo's side, smiling broadly at his friend as they head toward the stairs down to the lobby.

Adjusting his hat brim so that it sits lower to shade his eyes, Ray shakes his head. This is probably the worst decision he's made in a long time, but it should be interesting, at least.

(Nothing can be the _absolute_ worst decision he's made, because he lost Miles, lost the light in Miles' eyes, and even if he can help these boys, it won't make up for how he failed Gregory. But maybe, just maybe...)

Sauntering after the children, Ray decides he'll handle this case like he has the rest of his life since Gregory died and the system proved too insurmountable to overcome—one step at a time, always looking for the chasm to open up underneath his feet.

XXX

Apollo tries not to squirm or yell too much while Mr. Shields politely asks for permission to defend Inocente, tossing in the request that Apollo and Clay be allowed to accompany him and assist in the investigation as an afterthought. Apollo learned early on that directly arguing with adults was a surefire way to make them irritable and angry, unlikely to do what you want—can potentially make them dangerous. In some circumstances it's worth the risk, but not with adults that he's going to have to work with repeatedly, like Ms. Simplice and the people at school.

They get what they want out of it, anyway. Given the nature of the problem and their exemplary academic records, the school decides it's worthwhile for them to see how the trial goes.

(They think it will frighten him into better behavior, keep him from doing anything terrible like Inocente did. If she were actually there, Apollo would argue with them; since Mr. Shields makes it clear that assuming the verdict will be _guilty_ is a bit of a slap in the face to him, Apollo doesn't bother protesting. He puts his energy where it will be of more use, trying to think of places they can look for evidence.)

First, though, they have to go talk with Inocente.

"Let me do most of the talking, okay, kids?" Shields turns to face them as he speaks, blocking the way into the visitor's room at the detention center. "Conversations with your lawyer are supposed to be strictly confidential—no one else can listen in—but, well, better safe than sorry."

"Okay." Apollo nods. "But I'll help, if I think I can get her to tell the truth about something."

"Hearing the truth will definitely be helpful." Pushing his hat up so that his eyes show more, Shields turns and walks into the room, settling himself comfortably in the chair before the thick sheet of glass that separates the two halves of the room.

Inocente is led in a moment later. Her hair is limp, tangled, her expression haggard as she stares at Shields. Then she looks past him, sees Clay, lowers her gaze to scan the area for Apollo, and frowns in confusion at seeing the two of you. "Clay? Apollo? Why..."

"Because they're good friends of yours." Shields cuts in before Apollo can say anything. "They went and talked to thirty-nine defense attorneys before finding yours truly, who agreed to try to defend you. They're a scrappy crew who's pretty determined that you're really innocent."

"I _am_." Inocente glares daggers through the glass at Shields. "I never attacked anyone, and I didn't steal any stupid money or stupider jewelry. What would I even do with jewelry, huh? See me wearin' any pretty bling?"

"The general consensus seems to be that you sold it." Shields shrugs.

"And did what with the money? Buried it out back?" Tossing her head back, Inocente gives a snort of laughter. "Have you _seen_ my backyard? You can't bury stuff under concrete. Not easily, at least. Not without someone noticin'."

"A clever girl like you, I'm sure you could figure something out." Ray leans forward. "What I need to know, honest and true, is if you did figure something out, or if someone's trying to scapegoat you."

"I didn't do anything, Mr. Shields." Inocente raises her head, her lips trembling as a shiver runs up and down her body. "Nothing illegal, at least."

"Well now, I'd like to believe you." Drawling out the words, Shields pulls a file out of his bag and flips it open in front of him. "But they've got a tox report here that says—"

Inocente curses in three langauges, burying her head in her hands. "So I've tried a few things. That doesn't make me a thief—doesn't make me someone who would _hurt_ others! I swear, I had nothing to do with this."

Apollo knows that she's telling the truth. He doesn't know _how_ he knows, but he can _feel_ it, to the depth of his bones. "Mr. Shields—"

Shields raises his left hand, halting Apollo. "I'm going to believe you. A defense attorney needs to have faith in their clients, after all. And your friends have a lot of faith in you. That means that you're going to need to help me explain some things, all right? Like how your fingerprints ended up all over the house."

Inocente pales, shaking her head. "I can't."

"Inocente—"

"I _can't_." Shaking her head, Inocente pushes her way free of the plastic chair. "I really appreciate you agreeing to do this, Mr. Shields, but there are some things I just can't tell you. If that means you don't want to defend me, then—"

"If I don't defend you, you're either going to get convicted or going to end up taking a plea bargain." Ray takes his hat off, holding it to his chest as he studies Inocente. "You might still end up getting convicted even with a good defense. You're in a bad situation."

Chin dropping down to her chest, Inocente gives a little nod.

"But I understand there being some things you just can't say. Maybe because of promises you've made to other people." Putting his hat back on his head, Mr. Shields smiles at his client. "Give me a few hours to look into things. I'll come back with some evidence. If you still can't manage to tell me what we need to know, well, we'll go from there. All right?"

Watching Mr. Shields with wide eyes, Inocente gives a little nod.

"Good." Standing and turning to the door, Mr. Shields gestures for Apollo and Clay to follow him. "Come on, boys. I need you to help me figure out where to look."

Giving Inocente a bright smile and a double thumbs' up, Apollo hurries after Mr. Shields, determined to do everything he can to help.

XXX

"And this is Inocente's room." Apollo pushes open the door, his voice awe-filled. "She used to share it with Marissa, but Marissa was adopted two months ago, and they haven't moved anyone else in yet, so she has it all to herself."

The way Apollo says the words makes it obvious that he considers this a great honor. Ray pushes his hat down further on his head, his shoulders slumping, trying not to pity the boy. He's certain Apollo would hate his pity, and it won't do either Apollo or the girl that Apollo's desperately trying to save any good.

"It's not a bad thing, having to share a room." Clay speaks from behind Ray. "Not if you've got a good roommate."

"Though it _does_ mean that you get good at finding hiding spots." Apollo turns in a slow circle. "The police've already been through here, but maybe..."

"The police aren't you and they aren't me." Ray speaks in a quiet but firm voice. "And they were looking for other things. We just want to figure out why she's so hesitant to say how her fingerprints ended up all over the house. They were looking for drugs, stolen goods, money—and they didn't find anything they couldn't find in a thousand other teenager's rooms."

Apollo's face wrinkles up in confusion before he shakes his head. "Teenagers are weird."

Ray can't quite suppress a chuckle. "Wait until you are one. Now... if you wanted to hide, say, letters or some such, something you didn't want other people to see..."

Apollo begins tearing around the room like a miniature tornado, checking inside every bit of movable furniture, feeling along the baseboards of the walls, dragging the bed out of place to check around all sides of it. Once he's done that, he flops down on his back and shimmies _under_ the bed, a move that Ray suspects he wouldn't be able to replicate even if he wanted to.

"Here!" Apollo's voice is still perfectly comprehensible, and he slithers out from under the bed with just as much grace as he slithered beneath it. "I found some things. There was a little slit in the boxsprings, and these had been shoved up into it."

Clay grabs Apollo by the wrists, helping him the rest of the way out from under the bed before taking Apollo's finds and reverently delivering them to Ray.

Flipping through the scraps of paper and handful of photos, Ray sighs, already knowing that this case is going to be a mess. A _salvageable_ mess, now, but still a mess. "Thanks, boys. This is going to be incredibly helpful with proving Inocente had other reasons for being in the house."

"Yeah?" Apollo stands up on tip-toe to get a good look at the picture. "Will it be enough?"

Ray shrugs. "It'll be a start. A chance. Sometimes that's all you can really ask for, as a defense attorney."

"Being a defense attorney seems really hard." Apollo's brow crinkles as he frowns, clearly deep in thought. He and Clay follow Ray out into the hallway, surprisingly well-behaved shadows.

"It can be. Whether it's worth it or not..." Ray shrugs. "Let's get down to the detention center before visiting hours are over, okay?"

"Okay!" Apollo's agreement is probably heard out on the road.

Rubbing at his ear as surreptitiously as he can, Ray shepherds his charges back towards his car. No one stops him; no one asks him what he's doing. Since he received permission to take the boys with him, no one has called or checked in on or otherwise tried to ensure that he's behaving appropriately and doing what he said he would.

No one _cares_ about Apollo, Ray thinks with a sinking feeling in his gut, and perhaps that is why Apollo has taken to being loud. If he wasn't, it's quite possible no one would notice he's there, let alone notice if he was gone.

"Come _on_." Apollo beats him to the car, the boy's small legs capable of moving remarkably quickly.

"I'm coming, I'm coming." Adjusting the brim of his hat down to shade his eyes, to keep the boys from seeing anything he doesn't want them to see and that they likely wouldn't appreciate, Ray takes the driver's seat, pointing the car towards the detention center.

XXX

Apollo stands staring at the dull wall of the outside of the detention center, his whole body trembling minutely with rage. "How can they _do_ this? How can they keep you from seeing her?"

"They're the ones in charge. They get to make the rules." Shields shrugs, his shoulders moving in a laconic rocking motion. He doesn't seem to care that they've been barred from seeing Inocente until the trial starts tomorrow.

Or... Apollo narrows his eyes as he studies the tall man. Perhaps Shields _does_ care, a little bit more of a slope to his shoulders, a slouch to his back, but he's not _doing_ anything about it. "Isn't there someone you can go to? Someone you can complain to?"

"If I thought it would do any good, I would." Shields sighs. "Prosecutor Payne's well within his rights to take her to questioning, though, and once visiting hours are over, they're over."

"He's intentionally keeping you from talking to her. I _know_ it." Apollo turns his fuming rage on the unimpressed wall once more.

Clay's hand falls on his shoulder, solid, comforting, and Apollo leans back against Clay's larger frame. It's Shields that Clay addresses, though. "Is it really bad? That we can't talk to her?"

Tilting his head up, Shields squints at the setting sun. "It might be. But we've got evidence that'll get her talking on the stand, I think—or get the delightful young man who's trying to use her as a scapegoat to talk."

"Deli..." Apollo shakes his head, frowning at the defense attorney. "You're being sarcastic, right?"

"Of course I am." Smiling, Shields shoves his hands in his pockets and turns back toward the car. "Defense attorneys believe in their clients and their client's innocence, right up to the end. Anything that gets in the way of getting my client declared innocent is an obstacle to be torn down or otherwise dealt with."

Apollo can feel Clay tense behind him, and he reaches up to cover Clay's hand. "Dealt with by making sure that the person _can't_ get in the way anymore? Or by doing something like making it impossible for the prosecutors to get to them?"

Shields _laughs_ , which was not the reaction that Apollo had expected, though he stifles the guffaws a moment later. "Oh man, kid, if we had the type of power needed to do that..." His hand falls away from his mouth, and Shields is suddenly all business, his eyes dark and glowering as he stares down at the ground. "There are some defense attorneys who would do whatever they needed to do to get a not guilty verdict. Who _would_ stoop to forging evidence or hurting people... but that's not how Gregory Edgeworth did things, and it's not how I do things. I take on clients that I think are innocent, and I use my skills to find the evidence and present it in the right way to convince the judge they're innocent, too."

"It sounds... really complicated. The whole system." Clay is frowning now, too, his fingers still tense against Apollo's shoulder. "And I don't like it, that prosecutors can do whatever they want and that there are defense attorneys that do bad things. Why's it all so complicated and messy? There's none of this mess at GYAXA, and _they_ have to get rockets into _space_."

"Yeah? Yeah, you're probably right. Getting rockets into space is easier than getting justice." Shields gives one more shrug, starting to walk toward the car, forcing Apollo and Clay to follow or be left behind. "But that's because people are messy. People are complicated. They don't go in pretty little circles around nicely defined points that you just have to aim for."

"Neither do planets." Clay rolls his eyes. "Or comets or asteroids or anything else you might be trying to reference—reference _badly_ , I might add. Orbits tend to be elliptical, and they're not always stable, and everything in the whole universe is actually moving, expanding outward, and—"

Apollo taps Clay on the leg, letting him know that he's probably getting a little off the beaten path of what they're supposed to be talking about.

"And... yeah." Clay claims Apollo's hand in his. "Just saying, literal rocket science is easier than making sure the bad guys pay and the good guys don't?"

"Apparently yes." Shields smiles, but it is too bright, doesn't reach his eyes—the type of smile that Apollo has learned not to trust. "Since we can't do anything else useful, what do you boys say to dinner?"

Apollo and Clay share a look before blurting out, "Sure!" in concert.

"Good. There's this nice little Chinese place I know—I think you'll enjoy it. Plus I'll get lunch for the next few days out of the deal." Shields nods to himself. "Do you two want to come to the trial tomorrow, or—"

"Of _course_ we're coming." Apollo straightens, putting all his determination into his voice. "Right, Clay?"

"Either you take us or we'll show up at the courthouse." Clay grins. "Your choice."

"Threats, threats, and more threats for your Uncle Ray." Shields' smile becomes a bit more honest as he glances at Clay in the rear-view mirror. "You boys have suits to wear? Or at least nice clothes?"

"Uh..." Apollo mentally flicks through his wardrobe. "Will our school uniforms work?"

After a moment Shields nods, his voice soft. "That'll work. Just make sure they're clean and relatively wrinkle-free, if you can."

"Got it." Clay gives a decisive nod. "Image is important to astronauts, too. We won't disappoint or embarrass you."

"And Uncle Ray'll try his best not to disappoint you boys, either." Ray sighs, his hands tightening on the wheel. "Just remember that this is a tough case—orphan girl with a criminal record isn't a good place to start."

"You'll get to the truth." Apollo sits up straight, his eyes finding Shields' in the rear-view mirror. "I have faith in you."

Apollo doesn't hear anything else from Shields, but he does see the man's mouth move, and he thinks he can make out the words.

 _That's what I'm afraid of._

Apollo doesn't say anything, not wanting to make things more awkward and difficult than they already are, but the words sits like a splinter in his mind all that night, and he doesn't think he gets more than two hours' sleep before it's time for him to get up and dressed so that he can go to the courthouse for Inocente's trial.

XXX

The first part of the trial is as brutal and miserable as Ray had expected. Winston Payne isn't the worst of the prosecutors, not by a long shot (he's never stolen a _child_ , just because he can, just because destroying everything that Gregory ever loved makes him happy, and does the fact that Ray escaped Von Karma's notice mean anything?).

Payne produces Inocente's school and criminal record, not just insinuating but baldly stating that the robbery and attempted murder is the next logical step for a young woman—never _child—_ as ill-mannered and vicious as her. Sections of her school record are read, describing her as insolent, irritable, and prone to mood swings. Ray raises objections when he thinks he has a chance, but it's too little against the deluge of information, and he can tell from the way the judge frowns at Inocente that he's developing an image of her that's quite capable of including armed robbery.

Inocente doesn't help, sitting sullen on the defendant's bench. Ray had done his best to straighten her clothes and brush her hair out when they met in the defendant's lobby, but compared to everyone else in the room she still looks shabby.

It isn't a big crowd, at least. Ray had been half afraid that the woman in intensive care would die overnight, turning this into a murder trial. Instead her condition remains unchanged, hanging somewhere between life and death, and this trial is thus too boring to attract a large crowd.

Payne has finished grilling Detective Gumshoe on the facts from the crime scene, the large man snapping out responses with eagerness if not exactly precision. The items that have been stolen are detailed, the weapon displayed in all its bloody detail, and Inocente's fingerprints flash across the screen for everyone to see.

"I see, I see." The judge shakes his head, his eyes flicking from Gumshoe to Inocente. "Would you like to cross-examine the witness, defense?"

"It is my job, your honor." Ray drawls out the words before sense stops him, and he tries to soften them with a smile. "If it's all right with you, of course."

The judge frowns. "Continue."

Ray turns his smile to the witness' stand. "Detective Gumshoe. Just a few quick points. You said there were no prints found on the weapon?"

Gumshoe nods. "That's right, pal!"

"And yet Inocente's prints were lifted from other places in the house—the door, the kitchen counter." Ray spreads his arms out. "Rather strange, don't you think?"

"Objection!" Payne's voice grates against Ray's ears. "The girl is young and, as evidenced by her school record, not terribly intelligent."

Inocente turns a rather interesting shade of purple; Apollo does something similar in his spot tight against the rail separating the gallery from the actual court. Clay's hand across Apollo's mouth keeps him from shouting anything; Inocente is apparently intelligent enough to know that making a scene won't help her.

Payne smirks, crossing his arms in front of his chest. " _Clearly_ the girl has watched enough movies to know to wear gloves during the crime, or to wash the weapon afterward, but didn't think to do so when invited into the house. Or perhaps she knew better than to try to gain entrance while kitted out like a thief."

Giving a considering nod, Ray tilts the brim of his hat up. "I suppose it could be that. Or it could be that she had some other reason for being in the house, unrelated to the theft and assault."

"Oh, really?" Payne's confident smile doesn't falter in the least. "I find that interesting, in light of this last piece of evidence we have. A signed confession, detailing the young woman's intrusion into the house under false pretenses and assault of the two inhabitants. She insists that she had no prior contact with either Mr. Gyle or Ms. Imp."

Ray tries and fails to keep his smile in place as the confession appears on the screen. It shouldn't surprise him, really, that this is what Payne was doing last night, but he still walked right into Payne's trap. He'll have to tread more carefully in the future. "An interesting little piece of paper you've got there. A confession that I'd imagine was obtained under at least mild duress. You _did_ remember to follow all the rules about interrogating children, right?"

Payne's face reddens. "The defendant is hardly a _child_ , and I object to the defense's implications!"

"Objection sustained." The judge glares down at Ray. "Unless you have substantive proof that the defendant was mistreated in the acquisition of the confession, Mr. Shields, you will not voice insinuations such as that. Consider yourself penalized, and lucky not to receive more than this warning."

"Understood, your honor." Shoving his hands in his pockets, Ray rocks back on his heels.

"Very good." The judge subsides back into his seat. "Are there more cross-examination questions?"

Detective Gumshoe perks up, and Ray feels almost like he's disappointing the man when he shakes his head.

The judge bangs his gavel. "You are dismissed then, Detective Gumshoe. Thank you for your testimony. Does the prosecution have any further witnesses to call?"

Payne's smile sharpens, becoming vicious and razor-edged. "The prosecution would like to call Mr. Gyle to the stand, please."

The man who takes the stand is slim, pretty, with dark brown hair that has been artfully tousled and calm hazel eyes. He smiles at the judge, at the gallery, at Payne—at everyone but Ray and Inocente.

Gyle is sworn in, and gives a brief, emotional account of Inocente worming her way into the house with talk of a twisted ankle before viciously attacking him and his roommate. During his recitation Inocente seems to wilt, her face drawing together into a portrait of confusion and misery.

The time for cross-examination comes, and Ray has to resist thanking Payne for bringing Gyle to the stand. It means Ray doesn't have to call Inocente herself up—doesn't have to poke and prod at his defendant until he gets her to reveal things she has sworn to keep secret.

It's much easier to goad someone he's ninety percent convinced is a greedy liar and potential killer.

"Mr. Gyle." Ray leans forward, propping his elbows on the defense's bench and smiling as guilelessly as he can. "You're saying that you never saw the girl before the robbery."

Gyle smiles back at him. "Absolutely. The first time I saw the little monster was when she was stabbing poor Amy."

"Interesting. A good story. Uncle Ray might almost have bought that story, too, if he hadn't found some evidence that makes it look a little... fishy, shall we say." Straightening, Ray fishes for the photocopies of the pictures and letters. "If the court would turn its attention to the evidence that I submitted right before the trial began..."

" _What?_ " Payne's voice squeaks up several octaves. "I wasn't informed of this!"

"Well now, that seems strange. I gave you just as much warning as you gave me about that confession. Followed all the rules right to the letter." Ray holds up a picture with a date printed clearly across the bottom corner. "Now, Mr. Gyle, do you think you can identify the two people in this picture?"

Gyle turns a beautiful shade of green, his eyes flicking in a fierce glare to Inocente. "It's definitely the thief."

"Yes." Ray rolls out the vowel, still leaning forward on his elbows. "But who is this _with_ her? A good two months before the so-called meeting?"

"Why, it looks like you, Mr. Gyle!" The judge peers hard at the picture, as though that could make the meaning clear. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

"It must be a mistake." Gyle runs a hand back through his hair, his composure already restored. "Or someone who looks like me. I am rather fashionable right now."

"Hm." Nodding, Ray slides another photocopy out of his stack. "I suppose that's possible. But the pictures—which were found carefully hidden in the defendant's room, your honor, as you can see—had some letters to go with them. If it pleases the court, I'd like to read a sample."

"Objection!" Payne is sweating bullets, glaring at Ray as though this entire debacle were Ray's fault rather than the result of Payne jumping to conclusions. "The witness has already said that the gentleman in the pictures isn't him. It could be—"

"Someone else who looks exactly like him and also happens to sign his name _Arl_?" Ray cocks an eyebrow, gently waving the paper at Payne. "Exactly how many Arls do you think there are running around the city, Prosecutor Payne?"

"Objection overruled, Mr. Payne." The judge is frowning as he gestures for Ray to continue.

"Thank you, your honor." Smoothing the paper down in front of him, Ray straightens and begins to read. " _And I thank you again, dear Inocente, for keeping our love secret. I will find a way to provide for us. Forever and always, your loving Arl._ "

Payne jumps in before Gyle can reply. He has his phone open in front of him. "There are _eighteen_ other gentlemen in the city whose first names could conceivably be shortened to Arl. To imply that the witness is the one who sent these letters is absurd."

"The witness stabbed Ms. Imp and made off with the most expensive of her belongings before calling police. He then framed his young lover for the crime, knowing that her chances of acquiring a decent defense were slim at best." Ray glares at Gyle, fury roiling slowly through him as he thinks of how close the plan came to actually succeeding.

The judge looks between the witness and an utterly traumatized-looking Inocente. "This... does seem to warrant further investigation, at the very least."

It's not what Ray was hoping for, but another day to investigate will hopefully give him time to convince Inocente to talk to him so that he can hunt down more proof of Gyle's crimes. It means—

"Why?" Inocente's voice quivers, though her eyes are dry, her hands clenched into fists. "You said—you _promised_... I didn't tell them anything. Even when he wouldn't let me sleep, when he said that if Amy died I would hang... _why_?"

The judge's expression flickers, a brief look of pity, but he raises his gavel anyway, likely to tell Inocente to be quiet or be held in contempt of court.

" _Coward!_ "

Apollo's voice rings in the close confines of the courthouse, high-pitched, young, accusing and utterly confident.

"Liar!" Clay joins in the jeering. " _Loser_."

"Order in the court!" The judge's gavel bangs down as the rest of the gallery erupts in murmuring and muttering. "Order!"

Gyle looks around, his eyes growing wider and wider, his smile becoming a furious sneer. "You people have _no idea—_ no idea what it's like! And _you_ , you little _brat—_ I _told_ you no pictures, and to burn the letters, and..."

Silence has descended on the gallery, allowing Gyle's words to ring out.

"I mean..." Gyle looks around frantically.

"I think we know exactly what you mean, young man." The judge's mouth is turned down in a fierce frown as he stares at Gyle. "And I believe you've just given me enough information to pass a verdict today. Unless there are any objections...?"

Payne seems to deflate. "No, your honor."

Ray smiles. "None here."

"Very well." The judge straightens, staring down at Inocente. "I find the defendant... not guilty!"

Confetti rains down, and the gallery erupts in cheers.

Letting out a bone-deep sigh, Ray shoves his hands in his pockets and turns to smile at his client... and his client's friends.

It doesn't really solve anything, of course. It's just one little trial for one little girl. It doesn't scratch the surface of the corruption and misery that Ray knows are out there.

But for right now, for just a few minutes, it's enough.

XXX

"We did it!" Apollo dashes into the defendant's lobby, ducking under the arm of the bailiff who had moved to stop him. He and Clay were in here earlier with Shields, so Apollo sees no reason they shouldn't be allowed to enter now. "You're free!"

Inocente turns to look at him, her eyes red-rimmed, wide and weary.

Then she bursts into tears.

Apollo stands rooted to the spot, not sure what to do, not sure how he's supposed to handle this. Inocente doesn't _cry_. ( _None_ of them cry at the orphanage, not if they want to survive. Apollo learned that early and he learned it well, and even Clay hasn't seen him cry yet, though he thinks, of all the people he knows, Clay is the one who would understand the most if he did.)

Clay darts past him, moving to Inocente's side and reaching out to put a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, there. Deep breaths. It's going to be fine."

"What's all this, now?" Shields comes out of the men's bathroom, his hands in his pockets. "Does someone need a hug from Uncle Ray?"

" _No_." Inocente draws back from Shields, ending up pressed against Clay instead.

Shields sighs. "Always so suspicious. But that's all right. And for what it's worth... I'm sorry."

Lowering her head, Inocente gives it a tired, lost little shake, sniffling all the while. "He said... he said he loved me. Promised he'd stay with me. That we'd—that forever—"

The words disappear into a strangled cry of mingled rage and loss, and Inocente lifts her hands to press against her gushing eyes.

Apollo eases forward a step, but Shields is closer to Inocente, and it's his hand that falls on her head. "People will say anything to get what they want. What they need."

"I _know_." Inocente chokes out the words, lifting her head from her hands and blinking furiously. "Don't you think I _know_ that? Know that people are liars and cheaters and _monsters_? But he seemed... so different. I thought..."

Apollo knows, too. He has grown up in the shadows of far too many lies—lies that are meant to be kind, sometimes ( _you'll be adopted soon, I'm sure_ ) and lies that are meant to hide derision ( _of course nothing more could be expected of_ you) and lies that are simply meant to make things easier for the person telling the lie ( _just go to bed, Apollo, there's nothing else you can do_ ). Perhaps it's because of growing up the way he has, but Apollo is far too good at telling when someone lies... not that he's able to do much with the information, really.

"Gyle played you." Shields gives a slow, considering nod. "He hurt you. But you're not weak enough to let him win, I don't think. You're smart enough and clever enough to know that not _everyone's_ like him. If there weren't good people, you wouldn't be here right now."

"What?" Inocente mops at her face, her composure returning. "Because you agreed to defend me? You might have been called to do it anyway, or—"

"I'm not on rotation to do a _pro bono_ case for another two months. I'm here because of Apollo and Clay, just like I told you." Nodding his head towards Apollo, Shields rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet. "You could do worse than having friends like them."

Inocente gives one more sniffle, studying Apollo with a tentative smile. "I don't know. He's only ten years old. Kind of young to be my friend."

"He's _ten_?" Shields turns disbelieving eyes on Apollo. "No way. There's no way you're older than eight."

"I'm ten." Apollo draws himself up to his full height, glaring at the defense attorney. "Almost eleven."

"He'll hit a growth spurt here soon." Releasing Inocente, Clay moves to Apollo's side, reaching out to ruffle Apollo's hair. "Though I think it'll be a decade or two before his face looks remotely near his—hey!"

Snatching Clay's hat off his head, Apollo sticks his tongue out at his friend.

"Now now, boys." Shields' voice brings Clay up short, his hands and Apollo's both on the hat. "Let's not cause a big scene here, all right?"

"Yeah." Apollo offers a sheepish smile, releasing the hat so that Clay can slip it back on. "Sorry."

"No need for sorry." Ray holds his arms open once more. "But how about a victory hug from _everyone_ to Uncle Ray, all right?"

Clay barrels forward, grabbing Shields in a tight embrace. Apollo follows more slowly, but he figures Shields has earned a _little_ bit of a hug.

Inocente's left arm loops around Apollo's shoulder, her right around Ray's chest, and Apollo makes an undignified squeaking noise.

Inocente snorts. "Hush, Justice. I'm just using you as a couch, that's all."

"Justice?" Both Ray's eyebrows have arched up.

Clay pulls back from the hug, loosing the rest of them. "It's Apollo's last name. He—"

Scrambling to put a hand over Clay's mouth, Apollo glares up at Shields. "It's my last name. That's all."

The ghost of a smile touches Ray's lips, and he nods. His eyes are dancing but his expression grave when he finally speaks again. "It's been very nice to work with you, Mr. Justice. Now how about we go get paperwork sorted out, so we can take Inocente to a victory dinner?"

Clay gives a victory crow that is only somewhat muffled by Apollo's hand, and Inocente giggles next to Apollo.

Removing his hand from Clay's mouth, wiping it surreptitiously on his pants, Apollo returns Shields' nod. "That sounds really nice, Mr. Shields."

XXX

Ray probably shouldn't have offered to take the kids out to eat again. His budget isn't quite as tight as it used to be, but it's still not bursting at the seams, and the time he's spent on this case is time he wasn't looking into others. On the other hand, the kids are cute, and perhaps if he encourages Apollo Justice to put that mouth of his to good use—

He's too lost in his own thoughts, not paying attention to where he's walking. Under normal circumstances that wouldn't be so much of a problem—he's got two ten year olds (it's better, really, that they're two years older than he thought they were) and a still-sniffling teenager following him. Most sane people would get out of his way.

Most prosecutors aren't sane, and the idea of moving out of the way for a plebeian defense attorney likely doesn't even cross the man's mind.

Ray doesn't quite end up on the floor. The man who runs into him is slightly taller and apparently not quite as familiar with his center of balance, because he _does_ end up face-down on the floor.

A frilly coat, in a lighter purple than what Ray had seen last time, shoes that cost about three months' worth of rent, and for a brief moment Ray is eighteen again, following Gregory around, and—

"You _clumsy_ , ungainly..." The man mutters as he levers himself to his knees and then uses the wall to climb back to his feet, and Ray is able to breathe again. It isn't Von Karma— _this_ man is young, maybe somewhere in his early twenties. His eyes light on Ray's badge, and his smile becomes razor-edged. "Ah, but what do I expect of a defense attorney?"

The words are clipped, cultured, bearing the faint trace of an accent that Ray can't identify. The face is different— _so_ different, none of the soft lines of childhood, and his _eyes_ , oh, his eyes—but Ray recognizes him anyway. How could he not? A brilliant debut at twenty, almost immediately tarnished by suspicions of corruption, and how many calls to the office had there been asking if Miles Edgeworth was any relation?

(How many times did Ray see Miles staring up at him from the paper and hate the man for what he represents?)

"Miles." The name slips out on a whisper, filled somehow with both fury and shame.

Miles' brow wrinkles, an expression that he has grown into, that looks regal and handsome on him now where on the child that he was it just looked endearing. "Do I know you?"

"No." Ray forces a smile, though he suspects it looks more like a frightened dog's grimace. "Why would you?"

Miles' eyes track up and down him, assessing, analyzing, and Ray sees the moment understanding dawns—a flicker of some true emotion touching his eyes before the prosecutor's dour smirk drowns out everything else. "Raymond Shields. I suppose I should have expected this is how I'd meet you—skulking about underfoot, doing nothing of worth, just like always."

"You can't—!" Apollo surges forward, coming up short when Ray holds a hand out in front of him.

Rage simmers in Ray's chest, scalding, scouring, and he meets Miles' eyes with equanimity. (They are not the eyes of the child Gregory loved, the silver dull and tarnished, and though it's unfair Ray _hates_ Miles for that, bitterly, endlessly.) "Good to see you following in your father's footsteps."

Miles' smile slips, confusion filling his features. "My father—"

"Von Karma." Ray smiles, though it feels like the action should cut him, pull blood from lips that feel bloodless. "I'm sure he's really right proud of you, Miles. Now, if you'll just get out of Uncle Ray's way, I've got some kids to take care of."

"I pity them the experience of you as a role model." Miles steps aside even as he speaks, though, haughty arrogance once more taking over his expression as he crosses his arms in front of his chest. "But far be it from me to keep trash in the courthouse if it wishes to leave. Good day, Mr. Shields."

Ray doesn't say anything else, shepherding his group of children through the halls of the courthouse and out into the the cool air of the parking garage. The children all stay quiet—Clay with a considering, wary expression; Inocente with wide eyes; and Apollo once more trembling with fury.

"How could he _do_ that?" Apollo is the one to break the silence, whirling on Ray the moment they're out of the building. "How could he say things like that?"

"Who is he?" Clay's question is quieter but far more to the point.

"He's no one." Ray shrugs. "Just a clone of his mentor, dedicated to victory at any cost. Nobody you need to get excited or upset about."

"He's a _jerk_." Apollo crosses his arms in front of his chest, frowning fiercely in the general direction of their encounter with Miles.

Ray can't really argue with that. "The same could be said of a lot of prosecutors. And some judges. And some defense attorneys."

"Why do you do it?" Standing with his hand on Apollo's shoulder, Clay looks up at Ray with bright, earnest eyes. "If everything's such a mess, and the people you're working with are so nasty, why do you stick with it?"

"Because sometimes..." Ray runs his eyes over their small group—looks at the young woman who will go free tonight because he did what was right. "Sometimes it doesn't matter. Sometimes you look at the big picture and it seems overwhelming and pointless, but sometimes... you look at the smaller things. You do your best and someone innocent doesn't have their life ruined. Someone guilty doesn't get away with their crime. For right now... I've got enough small moments to keep me going."

"I wouldn't give up." Apollo stares up at him as he makes the declaration, his dark brown eyes shining with a light that Ray envies. "If you can change small things, you can change big things. You can fix _everything_."

"Yeah?" Ray has to take a deep breath, to draw in lungfuls of air against the clamping of his throat and the burning in his eyes. "I suppose you would see it that way, huh."

"I'm going to be an astronaut." Clay makes the grand proclamation the same way some people say they're going to the store—a simple statement of fact. "Maybe Apollo should be a defense attorney."

Inocente rolls her eyes. "You two and your dreams."

"Don't knock it. Those dreams're what got Uncle Ray involved in this in the first place." Acting on impulse, Ray steps forward, taking the hat from his head and planting it firmly atop Apollo's.

For a brief moment it slides down, hiding those fierce, sure eyes, and then Apollo reaches up to push the brim back, staring at Ray in incredulity.

"Bein' a defense attorney's no easy gig. But if you've got courage and smarts and strength and determination, you can make a lot of people's lives better." Ray's smile falters as he looks down into those eyes. (The last time he saw a child with eyes so bright the boy turned into a copy of a monster, but perhaps not all children metamorphose so completely when becoming adults.) "Or maybe it would break you, seeing all the misery that's out there, all the heartache and hopelessness and death. Your choice, kid. Just try to choose wisely."

"Nothing out there can break me." Apollo's grin is cocky and sure as he adjusts the too-big hat on his head. "Right, Clay?"

Clay smiles back, clearly understanding what he's supposed to do. "Because you're _fine_!"

" _You're_ fine!" Apollo shouts the words back.

" _We're fine!_ "

Inocente joins in on the recitation of what is clearly a mantra, though she rolls her eyes at Ray afterward, trying to distance herself from the excitement of the younger children.

Trying to drown the banked fire in her eyes, and Ray gives her shoulder a little punch. "You will be just fine. We all will be. Now come on, let's go to dinner."

Ray shepherds the children into his car and doesn't look back.

(He thinks he hears the ghost of another child crying behind him, the one child he should have saved and couldn't, but it is not Ray's fault that Miles exchanged the light of hope and happiness for the shine of greed and glamour, and he will not let himself dwell on it further.)

XXX

 _ **Three Years Later**_

Clay sighs, picking a scuffed, battered hat up off the ground and attempting to brush it off. The brim crumbles in his hand, buckling in at least three places, and he knows there's no saving it now.

Moving to his best friend's side, Clay studies the figure lying on his back in the long grass. Apollo will have a split lip and a black eye tomorrow, but overall he doesn't appear to be too much the worse for wear. Positioning the abused hat over Apollo's head—over eyes that are glaring fiercely up at the clouds, as though they hold the answer to something—Clay lets it fall. It lands roughly where he intended it to, obscuring Apollo's vision. "Congratulations. I think you finally killed it."

Apollo lifts his right hand, raw knuckles catching the sunlight, and moves the hat off his face. "It's a shame. I like the hat. But better it than my head."

"He speaks sense!" Settling down on his heels next to Apollo, Clay takes both his friend's hands in his. The bracelet has caused some scratches on Apollo's left wrist, but overall everything appears to be in one piece. "Also you came out of this not too much the worse for wear."

"There were only three of them, and the girl they were picking on turned out to know some pretty sweet moves once her hands weren't being held." Apollo grins, the split in his lip gaping ruby-red for a moment. "Sorry I didn't wait for you."

"Since you're not too beat up, I'll give you a pass this time." Releasing Apollo's hands, Clay flops down in the long grass next to him, examining the high cirrostratus clouds that seem to have enchanted his friend. "Are we studying the way the sun's light refracts and forms a halo here, or is there something else I should be looking at?"

"I was just..." Apollo hesitates. "They want us to start looking at career paths, yeah?"

"Yeah." Propping himself up on one elbow, Clay turns to face Apollo. "What does that have to do with you breaking a seven-month streak of no-violence? Or clouds, for that matter?"

"Well, I was thinking..."

"Such a dangerous proposition!" Clapping his hand to his heart, Clay flops back down in the grass. "However will we survive the outcome of this horrible event?"

"Stop it!" Apollo laughs as he gives Clay's shoulder a shove, sitting up as he does. "I'm trying to be serious here."

"Okay." Closing his mouth, Clay arranges himself in a cross-legged position in front of Apollo. "I can do serious. What is it you're thinking of doing?"

"I'm sort of thinking about becoming a lawyer. A defense attorney, to be exact." Pulling a handful of grass from the ground beside him, Apollo begins shredding it into small pieces of confetti that he allows to fly away.

"All right." Clay suppresses a laugh. It's not often Apollo wants to speak heart-to-heart, and he doesn't want to ruin it. "I had kind of suspected it, from how closely you've been following all the legal news the last couple months." Clay tries, he really _tries_ , but he can't quite resist the sly smile and the follow-up comment. "And the way you've been looking into everything Phoenix Wright's ever done in his life."

Apollo immediately turns bright red. "That's because what he's done is amazing! He goes from this nobody, this rookie, to having the best record of any defense attorney in the whole _state—_ "

"Partly because he's taken, like, six cases so far, but all right."

Apollo glares at him. "He's taken down Redd White's blackmail network, _plus_ all the internal corruption with Manfred von Karma and Damon Gant. He's _incredible_."

"Okay!" Holding up his hands in surrender, Clay laughs. "I acknowledge that he seems like a pretty awesome guy. Though... I'm a little surprised you weren't thinking about this before."

"I was." Apollo runs his fingers over the battered, abused hat that they acquired from Raymond Shields long ago. "Ever since Inocente's trial I've been thinking about it. But I don't want to be some... some cog in a system that I can't ever defeat. I don't want to take victories _sometimes_. I want to find clients who are innocent, and I want to help them _always_. To make sure that the _system's_ one that can help them always."

Taking Apollo's left hand in his right, Clay gives it a gentle squeeze. "And you're more comfortable with it now?"

"I think Shields was wrong. I think the system can be changed. I think people are proving that." Apollo's eyes gleam as his fingers tighten around Clay's. "I think we can make everything _better_. I can defend kids like Inocente and I can make the world a better place. Assuming, of course, I can figure out a way to afford it."

"Hey, I'm going to have to figure out how to afford college, too." Clay shrugs. "We've both kept our grades up. We'll just keep doing that—get as many scholarships as we can, take out some loans if we need to, work when we're not in school."

"We'll find a way to make it work." A grin spreads slowly across Apollo's abused face, excitement and eagerness and energy. "You'll get into space; I'll become a lawyer."

"Damn straight." Clay clambers to his feet, pulling Apollo up after him. "Because _you're_ fine."

Apollo laughs. " _You're_ fine!"

" _We're fine!_ "

Clay thinks he hears the phrase echoing off the distant buildings, a promise between them and everyone else who can hear them.

They're fine, and together they're going to make the whole universe fine, too.


End file.
